


Crescendo

by tahirire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-17
Updated: 2009-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 04:30:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tahirire/pseuds/tahirire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean encounter a monster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crescendo

The waves crash loudly on the rocks below and the bitterly cold autumn wind blows straight through him, chilling him to his core.

But he doesn’t notice. All he hears is the music.

It floats up on the wind, from somewhere out there in the darkened ink of the sea. Pale moonlight streams down in shafts to cast light on the breakers and his eyes strain, but he doesn’t see her; he doesn’t see the Singer.

Everything else is muddled and dark, except the music. It’s only a voice; no instruments, and he can’t quite catch the words, but the melody is in him and around him, it’s everything he’s ever done or will do.

The music is everything Sam Winchester _is_.

He steps closer to the cliff’s edge. _Come_ , the night wind whispers, _come, let me teach you how to fly_.

He feels lighter, freed; like the melody can lift him. He feels his spirit rise to meet the call of the ocean waves. The cool, loose dirt shifts underneath his feet and he slides closer, leaning into the sound of her, feeling the caress of her on the wind.

Somewhere down below he hears the sound of someone calling his name. The tone is deep, rough; he shakes his head distractedly – he doesn’t want to listen to the Other voice, he wants to hear the music. He closes his eyes and concentrates, longing.

The music swells in response to his unspoken call, flowing over him, inexorable as the tide. A faint smile tugs the edges of his lips even as unbidden tears begin to roll, salt melting softly on his cheeks, lost in the spray of the sea against his skin.

The beat comes faster. _Come_ , it sighs, crooning insistently. _Come to me_. He steps forward without hesitation, setting one foot over the spacious void.

 _Sam, don’t!_

The Other voice is louder, panicked. It grates against his nerves, unsettling him. His eyes snap open and the music falters, losing its tenuous grip on his soul.

The rocky shore below spins into focus with startling clarity. He cries out, slipping even as he throws himself down and back, away from the edge. He can feel himself going over as the sandy soil gives way beneath his weight. His fingers are ice cold and his grip is weak on the fragile rock edge where he clings, holding on for dear life.

Below, from somewhere in the inky black of the frigid water, a horrible scream rises. It’s the Singer. Sam feels his blood turn to ice in his veins at the sound and he yells, everything in him demanding that he go to her, his shredded spirit insisting that if she dies he’ll die, too.

The scream goes on _forever_ , sinking into his bones, leaving him breathless until he’s frozen in place, sobbing into the rock face as he tries to convince himself he doesn’t want to fall.

Dimly he becomes aware of strong hands closing around his wrists, and instinct is the force that makes him struggle to pull himself back up and over the edge.

He falls into the tall grass, shivering violently. His eyes open to look directly into the worried gaze of the man to whom the Other voice belongs.

“Dean?”

“You alright?”

Sam nods. As the last throes of the scream fall silent the spell of the music is broken completely, and it drops him like a stone. “C .. cold, cold.” He chatters.

“Yeah, I gotcha, come on.” Dean says, pulling him slowly to his feet. “Back to the car, come on,” he rattles off a steady stream of assurances until they reach their destination, and Sam feels the mental fog slowly begin to dissipate as he listens to his brother’s voice.

Dean guns the engine, grabs out his duffle, and shoves Sam into the backseat. Sam sinks gratefully into the leather, the heat cranking from the front vents already thawing the chill.

“Be right back,” Dean whispers, and with one last glace over Sam’s huddled form, he’s gone.

~*~

Dean stumbles slowly down the embankment, muttering curses under his breath as he goes. The bag is heavy on his shoulder. He didn’t have the time to empty it before he left and he doesn’t have any time to waste, he has to get back to Sam. Siren magic is strong stuff, and that damn kid has some kind of supernatural target painted on his giant forehead.

“Friggin’ scaly bitch,” he chatters, wrapping his arms around himself against the chill. Slip-sliding down the narrow path to the beach below, he adds ‘ _cliffy beaches in Maine_ ’ to his mental list of places to stay the hell away from, right up there with _Lawrence, Rockford,_ _Jefferson City,_ and where ever it was he met that … oh, _Tampa_ , right.

He drops the bag in the sand, squinting up at the cliff face his brother almost pulled a _Mr. Magoo_ off of. “Damn, Sammy,” he whispers, suppressing a chill that has little to do with the cold.

Dean sees her near the ocean’s edge. His numb fingers slip in the slick of her skin as he hauls her from the water, dragging the body until they are sheltered by the cliff face. Disgusted, he wipes his hands on his jeans. Sam is so doing the laundry.

He takes a moment to survey his handiwork. “Damn,” he says again, whistling low at the sight. More fish than woman, the siren has already started to fall apart. The bronze rod Dean fired from his crossbow is lodged firmly in her chest, sinking through the heart to dig into her shoulder blade.

Long, stringy strands of hair like seaweed cover her face. Dean doesn’t try to fight the morbid curiosity he feels; he reaches with the toe of his boot and pushes the tendrils away. Her silver eyes glare up at him from sunken pits. Her blood-red lips are drawn into a grimace over sharp pointed fangs. Even in death, her twisted features radiate lust.

Dean shudders. That shot was pure luck, and he knew it when he let it fly. Somebody somewhere must actually give a crap. “Damn, _Sammy_ ,” he says, hoping that if there is somebody, they can hear his implied _thank you_.

He scoops up the salt can and the lighter fluid, strikes a match, and sends the bitch to hell.

Once the flames are burning high, Dean climbs the steep trail to the car. Bone weary, he shakes his head at the sight of his brother in the back seat. Sam is passed out, and it always makes him look smaller somehow.

Chucking his jacket and bag in the trunk, Dean slides in behind the wheel.

Back on the road, Dean’s chest finally loosens as Sam stirs, mumbling softly.

“Dean?”

Dean checks the rearview, amused at Sam’s questioning tone. Sam still has his eyes closed, but at least the shivering is gone.

“Yeah?”

“Y’smell like fish.” Sam declares, sinking lower into his blanket.

Dean grins, shifting his eyes back to the road. “Shut up,” he retorts, but Sam is already asleep.


End file.
